


Two Sides of a Magnet

by Mariico



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:58:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariico/pseuds/Mariico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had forever to live; she only had weeks. This is a story of a boy with many horcruxes, and a girl diagnosed with cancer. One who has nothing more than power and immortality, while the other has everything but time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Sides of a Magnet

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: A little cheesy oneshot. It’s pretty fluffy, yeah. Dedicated to a family friend who found out that she had cancer about three months ago. I apologize in advanced; I know very little about it, and have not experienced it first handed, so I am just guessing here how it feels like. Did some research, but I was never too good at that.  
> This is unbeta’ed because I didn’t want to bother anyone with something so fluffy. Though…don’t blame me. It’s hard to write a sentimental story involving Tom because he’s just so incapable of feeling anything, which really defeats all kinds of morals I had planned for this story. Maybe I’ll migrate to another fandom to write another version of this.

“Tom Riddle,”

The woman checked the clipboard. “Yes, Mr. Riddle,” she checked off his name on the paper, not noticing how Tom’s face turned ugly upon hearing the name she called him. He hated that name; it reminded him that he was forever connected with that disgusting muggle father of his, that he would never be the pureblood that the heir of Slytherin was supposed to be. He was tainted with disgusting blood. “Welcome to the Great Hangleton hospital.”

Tom nodded politely, but didn’t say anything; there was no need to impress the nurses more than he needed to. He would just complete his punishment here, and then he would more than likely never see them again. They had nothing he wanted from them, anyway, so there was no point in seducing them other than for his own pleasure. But he could never gain any kind of pleasure from muggles.

It was bad enough that he had to be surrounded by muggles, but Little Hangleton, the town where his father resided, was just a few miles away. His father could pop in any day. He was sure that Dumbledore picked this spot specifically just to torture him, to make this punishment worse than it already was.

“Come along now,” the woman tapped her pen on the clipboard once, and then took off down the hallway. Tom had no choice but to follow her. Thankfully, Great Hangleton was far enough from Hogwarts that there was very little chance that he would see someone from school. The last thing he wanted was for his seventh year to begin with rumors that Tom Riddle actually _enjoyed_ doing work at a muggle hospital. He would lose support from the Slytherins if they found out he was mixing with the inferior blood. He didn’t need his already disobedient followers to have another reason to rebel against him.

“Here we are,” the woman stopped in front of a room with a large gold ‘7’ branded on the door. “You’ve been assigned to this girl. She’s a very nice woman, so you should have no problem with her.” The nurse nodded once and looked as though she wanted to say something, but then closed her mouth and then headed back down the hallway. However, not before Tom heard her mutter, “It’s always the kind ones who die young.” Tom stared at her as her back disappeared around the corner and frowned slightly. Did that mean the patient was a schoolgirl? He did not need another love crazy girl to fawn over him.

The room was rather small; just a small bed, a chair, a small desk and a window. The view outside wasn’t great either; it was just the view of the roof. After spending the summer at the Malfoy Manor, this room didn’t even equal half the size of the smallest bathroom there. Tom sighed, sat himself down in the chair, and then looked at the girl.

She was by no means pretty. Her hair was a tumbling mess, outlining her small face. She looked quite like a chipmunk. Tom narrowed his eyes; there was certainly a magic aura emitting from her body. It even seemed _stronger_ than a lot of his follower’s. What was a _witch_ doing in a muggle hospital? No matter what kind of sick disease she had, there was no doubt the wizard hospital would be able to treat it. Was she _stupid_? Did she want to die?

“You’re staring at me.”

It was only because of his well trained poker face that he managed not to jump in surprise. The girl had opened both of her eyes, the colored of hazelnuts, and was looking at him with a small smile on her face. There was something about her that gave Tom the impression that she thought she was better than him. That just wouldn’t do; Tom Riddle was better than everyone.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

The girl raised her eyebrow at his harsh tone, but didn’t question it. “Are you the person here to keep me company?” She sat up, and Tom could spot the pink dressing gown she wore.

“No.” Keeping her company wasn’t part of the punishment. Dumbledore merely said he had to help out at the hospital. He was helping out by not talking.

“Suit yourself,” the girl simply shrugged. “I’m Hermione Granger by the way.”

Tom merely ignored her and stared at the wall. He should’ve known better than to trust that idiot follower of his. Abraxas Malfoy had ratted him out to Dumbledore, just because he was too scared to face his father. Tom made sure that after that, Malfoy knew that Tom was ten times scarier than his father could ever be. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done, and Dumbledore sent him to a muggle hospital to help. He had refused at first, but Dumbledore blackmailed him, saying that if he didn’t go, he would take the case up to Dippet and get him expelled.

He couldn’t believe he had gotten caught. He had _never_ gotten caught before. Some of the teachers were starting to get suspicious, and that would not do. He couldn’t let his blubbering followers blow the perfect reputation he had build for himself over the years.

He would have to have a long _talk_ with them to show them who was really in power.

“So,” the stupid girl kept talking. She had a rather melodic name for someone who was as ugly as her. Not that he minded how she looked. When he wanted information, he got it, no matter what the other person looked like. However, pretty girls were always a bonus.

However, not only was this girl not pretty, but there was no information whatsoever that she could offer him. This was a complete waste of his time, and he was significantly crankier than he was when he first got here. Malfoy would look forward to another torture session when he got back.

“What brings you to this hospital?”

“Punishment.”

Hermione blinked. “Punishment,” she repeated.

“Yes. It was a mistake.” He smiled eerily at her. Unfortunately, it did not scare her; it merely prompted another eyebrow raise from her. She was unnerving him with her calm demeanor. “It won’t happen again.”

The girl looked like she wanted to say something else, but before she could, the door opened and a nurse stepped in. She smiled flirtingly at Tom, who pointedly ignored it. Muggles were lucky enough that the wizarding world allowed them to walk on the planet; however, they clearly weren’t thankful enough to leave wizards alone.

They were like ants; step on one, and millions of others arrived to take its place. They never seemed to go away, and the world never seemed to be clean of the filth that they carried.

They would be the first thing he got rid of when he became the ruler of the world.

“Your shift is done for today,” the nurse smiled. “Thank you very much. We’ll see you tomorrow.” She took a step closer, glanced quickly at Hermione, and then offered Tom a seductive grin.

“Don’t count on it,” Tom muttered, pushing past the nurse and quickly stepping out of the room and slamming the door behind him. He didn’t care what kind of punishment Dumbledore had for him; _anything_ was better than being surrounded by muggles. The place was practically reeking of filth. He could almost see the dirt floating in the air.

What would the Great Salazar Slytherin say, to know that his descendent was mingling with muggles? The heir of Slytherin was supposed to destroy non-magical beings, not make polite conversation and help them.

However, Tom sneered as he left the hospital, an ugly look taking his face, there was something pleasing about watching them sick and crippled, lying helpless on a bed. Maybe there was something good about going to the hospital. Muggles certainly needed the reminder that he was more powerful than they would ever be. And with them on their death bed, with him towering over them, he certainly was more powerful.

❖

Tom found himself in the same room the next day.

He had gone to Dumbledore, but the old codger refused to budge, offering him the choice of a muggle hospital, or Azkaban. After serious consideration about spending a few years in the prison, he finally decided that muggles were only slightly better than the dementors, but better nonetheless.

It wasn’t even the dementors that really convinced him to come to the hospital, though; it was that if he went to Azkaban, he would be locked up. And if there was something Tom Riddle hated more than muggles, it was the feeling of being trapped. He liked his freedom, and the hospital offered it; even if it came with a whole house full of disgusting muggles.

“Hello,” Hermione beamed as he sat down in the chair next to her bed. He felt significantly better, after spending a good part of the night crucio’ing all of his followers, but his frustration was climbing back when the second he stepped in to the hospital, a stupid muggle witch clung on to his arm. It was absolutely disgusting, and he would’ve thrown her off of him and cursed her if they were alone. However, since he had no doubt that no matter what he did, Dumbledore was always watching, he simply shook her off of his arm and hid in Hermione’s room. While she too was a filthy muggle, at least she didn’t drape herself all over him. And unlike all the idiots he ordered around, she seemed to have a brain.

“Hi Granger,” he threw open the book he had brought with him. If he was lucky enough, she would leave him alone to read in peace. However, if he had luck in the first place, he wouldn’t have been stuck in here.

“Hi Riddle,” Hermione was peaking over at the book he was reading. She wrinkled her nose when she read a few lines. “Dark Arts? Surely there are better books to read.”  She added quickly, “Not that I approve of restricting knowledge, but reading something that dark in my free time isn’t my cup of tea.”

Tom froze, and he slowly turned his head to look at her, narrowing his eyes. “How exactly,” he said slowly, pronouncing each word clearly. “Do you know my name?”

Hermione blinked. “Is it a crime?” She sighed as Tom continued to glare at her. “Fine, I learned that you were going to be here from Professor Dumbledore. He came here about a week ago.” She paused. “Not that I didn’t know it already. You’re rather famous.”

“Famous,” Tom repeated. “And how exactly am I _famous_?” He was going to be famous one day, but right now, he was trying to keep a relatively low profile with his dark arts. He had to acquire more power before he could go public with that. The last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to ship him off to Azkaban before he could properly assemble his followers in to an unbeatable force.

Hermione shrugged. “You were the Slytherin prince, were you not?” She laughed slightly as Tom’s poker face slipped slightly. “Or maybe that was Malfoy. I don’t really know.” Tom continued to stare at her, looking rather bewildered. “You don’t remember? Well, I suppose I’m not as memorable as you are. I was the Head Girl when you were in your third year.”

“You went to _Hogwarts_?” Tom asked, his eyes open wide. It was one of the rare times he allowed his surprise to be shown on his face, but since this hospital was far enough from Hogwarts, he didn’t really care what kind of rumors started about him here. And she was right; he didn’t remember her at all. He usually would remember things like this.

“Yes, I did,” Hermione looked rather amused. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because you’re a _mudblood_.”

Hermione’s smile slid off her face and she frowned at him. “I am proud of my heritage,” she huffed. “As should all the other muggleborns in the school. The fact that you have wizards for parents does not mean that you are more capable.” She turned on her lecturing voice. “In fact, muggleborns often have to work harder than purebloods, and because of that, their efforts often make them more successful. It’s not about what your parents pass down to you; it’s the effort that you put in.”

“Dippet made a mudblood Head Girl,” Tom sneered, ignoring her completely, his dark magic crackling around him. However, unlike the others, Hermione simply looked at him, no fear in her eyes. She even scowled at him for ignoring her whole mini-speech. Tom didn’t know whether to admire her boldness or to be furious that she wasn’t cowering before him. “And they let that idiot run the school,”

Hermione sighed. “Such bold words for someone who’s not even pureblood.” Tom froze, but before he could say anything, Hermione continued, “And would you rather Professor Dumbledore be in charge? I don’t think the two of you would get along real well.”  

His wand was pointed to her forehead before she could blink, his face arranged in a furious scowl. “I am a pureblood,”

Hermione eyed the wand, but once again, no fear was displayed on her face. Did dying make people more daring? It certainly seemed like it. “It sounds to me like you’re trying to convince yourself,” she shrugged. “And no need to get all touchy. No one else knows your secret besides me. Professor Dumbledore told me when he stopped by, and I really don’t have a chance to tell anyone else.”

“And what else,” Tom said, his voice eerily quiet. “Did _Dumbledore_ have to say about me?” He couldn’t believe the old codger was talking about him, sharing everything he had tried so hard to hide. What if Dumbledore started telling his housemates? His grip on them would lessen considerably if they found out his blood wasn’t completely pure. It made even _him_ disgusted.

Hermione shrugged again. “He didn’t say that much, just about how he was trying to help you and how life steered you in the wrong direction. He mentioned how even though her tried hard to get you back on track you were too far out of his reach.” She paused, and an ugly sneer appeared on Tom’s face as he listened to the disgusting words. “Personally, though I think Professor Dumbledore is a great person, I disagree with him on that. You can’t force a person to change if they don’t want to change themselves. However, that’s not saying I support you,” she frowned. “The Unforgivable curses are unforgivable for a reason.” Hermione grinned. “And no, you can’t crucio me. Not that my permission matters much to you, but you wouldn’t have done it even if I had said you could.”

Tom raised his eyebrow. She was speaking as though she knew him. “And why wouldn’t I?”

“Underage magic. Too easily traceable. You’ll only have time to fire off one shot before you have to start running from the Ministry.” Hermione shrugged. “I doubt you want to waste it on me, since I am no threat to you. In fact, the safest way would be to dispose of me with some muggle weapons since they can be easily trashed.” She commented wryly, “And I’m sure one of your followers would take the blame if anything went wrong.”

“Well, Granger,” Tom purred, removing his wand from her forehead and pocketing it. Hermione seemed to be able to read him quite easily—but there was a lot more to him that even _she_ couldn’t figure out. Some things that no one would ever know until it was too late.

This girl had piqued up his interest, so it was time to go for another tactic—seduction. It had worked for him every time, and though this girl was different from the rest, he had no doubt he could break her rather easily. He was charming and handsome, after all, and no one could resist his charms. “It seems like I’m an open book to you.”

“I was the Head Girl,” Hermione said, though Tom could hear a touch of defensiveness in her voice. “It’s only natural that I know about my fellow students.”

Tom raised his eyebrow. “Do you know that much about every single student in Hogwarts? That’s rather impressive.”

“No, I don’t,” Hermione admitted. “I paid special attention to you since I always saw you in the library.” Here, she frowned. “Of course, you were always in the restricted area, but at least you were reading.” She smiled slightly. “I petitioned for a quiet reading class. The library was always so noisy, and my roommates had no understanding for my love for books. However, the Headmaster didn’t listen to me, saying something about how not enough people would sign up.”

Tom secretly thought to himself that he would’ve signed up if the class had been offered, and Merlin knows that Dippet would’ve immediately started the class if Tom had signed up. The man worshipped the ground that he walked on, Tom thought with a sneer. However, he would not admit that the mudblood was right.

However, the fact that she was watching him gave him unexplainable pleasure. It was good to know that at least _some_ mudbloods still had respect for him. Even if that mudblood knew of his disgusting blood status. Tom cast her a sideways glance; he would dispose of her, but Dumbledore knew he was here, so the old codger would no doubt come up with some sort of false evidence to send him to Azkaban. The girl here was dying anyway, and who knows, maybe she would make his punishment here more enjoyable.

He shook his head. Lord Voldemort, heir of Slytherin, making small talk with a _mudblood_ and enjoying her presence. That was simply unacceptable.

“Hey,” Hermione said, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Can you do me a favor?”

Lord Voldemort did not do anyone favors, especially not mudbloods. But his interest had piqued up, and he tilted his head to one side and said, “What?”

“Can you bring me something from outside?”

“Of course,” Tom snickered obnoxiously, causing Hermione to frown. “What would you like? Some jewelry, or perhaps some makeup?” He eyed her hair. “Or maybe a comb?” All girls were the same, he thought with a sneer. They were all obsessed with their looks and fell head over heels over some handsome boy. They had no depth at all.

Hermione looked offended, her hand absentmindedly drifting towards her hair. “I like my hair,” she said, scowling. “And no, I’m not interested in makeup. Can you bring me a book?” She added quickly, “Any book will do. It’s just that there are no books here unless you count magazines,” she frowned. “I don’t really want to read more about celebrity’s life, but that’s all they have here.” She paused. “I must be truly desperate if I’ll even accept dark books.”

“You want a _book_?” Tom repeated. “Can you even read?”

“Of course I can,” Hermione said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I be able to?”

“Given your heritage,” Tom sneered. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Hermione huffed. “Just because my parents aren’t magical does not mean I’m stupid!” She jabbed her finger in his direction. “In fact, I bet I’m better than you!” Tom clenched his jaw, but Hermione didn’t notice. “I bet I can even beat you in a duel!”

Tom rolled his eyes. He had to work hard to control the anger that was building up inside of him. That last statement sounded suspiciously like a challenge. And Tom Riddle did not take challenges well, especially when the opponent was making him feel inferior. However, he reminded himself that he could not curse her, though he very much wanted to. He debated whether or not he could manage to break her fingers without her screaming for help. Thankfully, the clock chimed, symbolizing that his shift was over. He got up without another word and headed towards the door.

“Scared?”

Tom turned around slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Of _you_?” He snickered evilly, his eyes openly raking up and down her body. She didn’t have a good form for fighting, though it wouldn’t have mattered if she did. There was no one better at dueling than he was. Except for maybe Albus Dumbledore, though that would change soon.

Hermione frowned. “Duel me, then, if you’re so sure you’ll win.” She produced her wand with a flick of her hand, making Tom wonder where she hid it. The flimsy piece of clothing she wore had no pockets. Then, without waiting for him to respond, she slowly got on her feet and pointed the wand at him, bowing slightly, keeping her eyes on him.

She knew the basics, didn’t she? Tom sneered and raised his own wand, bending over in a way that was proper enough for dueling, but not enough to show submission. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your pretty little face,” he snarled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. You couldn’t even if you tried.”  

And the duel began.

Tom, who had expected her to crumple after the first stunner, was both pleasantly surprised and a little pissed when she managed to return his spells with ease. He had been hoping to get out of the hospital as soon as possible, but there was something exhilarating about the duel that was absent when he dueled other people.

The girl seemed to be able to read his movements well, and responded to his spells right after they left his wand, sometimes even as he was tracing the spell out with his hand. Her movement was fluent as well, and her wand work seemed to be flawless. He narrowed his eyes, sending some more difficult curses towards her. She managed to produce the correct shields, no matter how difficult, effectively blocking his attacks.

When she made a particularly energy-draining shield, he wondered why she didn’t just step side it to save herself the trouble. Then he realized she was trying not to let his spells hit anything in the room, as it would cause quite a racket. His lips curled up; he could use that to his advantage.

He shot spell after spell at her, and she was forced to conjure up multiple shields. She stumbled slightly, and Tom saw his opening. He raised his wand, tracing the familiar pattern of his favorite curse, when he suddenly remembered something. He quickly stopped and did not react in time to react to Hermione’s curse, which cut the side of his cheek.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, a smug look on her face. For someone who was supposed to be sick, she was more active than all of his followers put together. “Giving up already?” she taunted, twirling her wand between her fingers. “I didn’t think you’d be such a quitter.”

Tom was still staring at his wand as if it was the most horrible thing he had ever seen. He considered burning it in the fire place in the hospital lobby. Realization dawned Hermione, and the smug smile slid off and was replaced with a look of concern. “You don’t need to worry about the Ministry,” she told him kindly. “We have an agreement?”

Tom looked at her suspiciously. “What agreement?”

She shifted around, looking a little uncomfortable. She flicked her hand once, and her wand disappeared, and she settled underneath her covers again. Tom took it as a sign that the duel was over, and quickly pocketed his wand as well, though the thought of cursing her while she was unprepared did cross his mind.

“What agreement?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes when she didn’t respond.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” came her muffled voice from beneath the blankets. When he still didn’t move, she sighed and said, “This conversation is over. Goodbye, Riddle.”

He understood he was being dismissed, and he did not like that; it was always him dismissing other people. However, he knew that he was not going to be getting any more information from her, and he was too relieved that he wouldn’t get in trouble for using magic outside of Hogwarts. He quickly left, his mind on Hermione Granger, the girl who seemed to know so much about him while he knew nothing about her.

❖

Hermione woke up and yawned, glancing over at the clock. It was late; she had spent the whole day sleeping once again. She seemed to be getting weaker as the days went by, but she had a feeling that her energy had been sapped due to the duel she had had with Riddle.

Not that she regretted it. It was by far one of the most enjoyable things that had happened to her since she got here. Of course, she did not regret the fact that she asked to be put here; the workers here were all quite nice, and the hospital was a pleasant place to live. However, the nurses here were often busy, and the neighbor patients were often asleep, so she was usually bored out of her mind.

Harry and Ron would check on her once in a while, but as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to ask them to stay. They were famous people now, after helping Dumbledore defeat Gellert Grindwald. Also, Harry had Ginny, and Ron had Lavender. It was time for them to start a family and look to the future instead of staying with her and looking at the past.

Tom Riddle. She hadn’t heard that name in years. Back in Hogwarts, Ron had bought the whole perfect student image that he put up, and he had loved Tom. Both Harry and herself had become slightly suspicious of him, though she pushed her suspicions aside when she saw him in the library every day. She had originally thought of him to be this boy who spent all his time with girls and only got good grades by luck. Nothing made her happier than to learn that he actually worked for his grades.

After that, she began watching him. For someone who managed to hide his true personality from the school for so long, Hermione figured him out rather quickly. He was something all right; managing to snoop around with dark arts and teaching his followers the darkest that magic could possible offer—and right under the professors’ noses as well. He made potions that were not in books, potions that took herself at least four to five tries to get it completely perfect. He did it almost effortlessly.

She knew she should turn him in, but she was much too intrigued by him by this point to do anything other than watch him. It was dark magic he was working with, but Hermione couldn’t help but think how much potential he had, and how much he could offer to the wizarding world.

She knew she was in denial; someone like him would never voluntarily help anyone other than himself, but she used that excuse to reason with herself why she let him indulge in dark arts right in front of her.

She figured he would bolt if he discovered a Gryffindor was watching him, but she wanted to help him nonetheless. She decided to start leaving little notes where he worked, to tell him some things that she knew that might help him. He did not take it well at first; he burned the note and worked the rest of the day with an angry scowl on his face. He also tried cursing everything around him in hopes of finding her, and she very narrowly escaped a couple of encounters.

However, Hermione was persistent, and the notes kept coming. Eventually, he swallowed his pride and looked at the note, and then instantly went to disprove it. Hermione merely shrugged it off, and sent another note the next day. He never took her suggestions, but they ended up having quite the debates, though she never showed herself to him. Even though he looked to be enjoying their conversations, she didn’t think he would appreciate it if he knew it was her.

Of course, it didn’t stop him from trying; he tried every possible spell that he knew to try to discover her identities. There were a few close calls, but she mostly was able to escape unscathed. He eventually gave up and just accepted that she was an invisible person. However, he did voice his disapproval at every one of their meetings.

Hermione often wondered if he ever went back and waited for her after she graduated from Hogwarts. She herself had debated on whether or not to go back and say a proper farewell to him, but that was when the sickness overtook her body, and there wasn’t a lot of places she could go give the state of her body.

Then again, she had not expected to be able to duel as well as she did against Tom yesterday. She felt a sliver of hope that her body was getting better, that she was becoming healthier.

“Hermione,” a nurse stepped in to the room. Hermione recognized her as Emily, the nurse who always brought her her food. Right now, she had two muffins in her hand. “I thought you might like something before dinner is served.”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Hermione smiled. “Thank you,”

Emily placed the muffins on the desk next to her. The girl was about her age, though both her parents had been doctors. She had plenty of experience ever since she was young. She was training to be a doctor, but decided to be a nurse for a year to save up some money. “You were sleeping the whole day. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. Though Emily wasn’t much older than she was, Hermione considered her to be her second mother. She had erased the memory of her birth parents during the war against Grindelwald, but decided not to restore herself in to it once the war was over; she was dying anyway. There was no need to cause her parents any more grief or worry.

Emily looked at something on the chair and grinned. “That boy came today,” she said. “He left as soon as the bell rang, but he did stay and watch you while you were sleeping,” she nudged her head towards the chair. “He left that for you.” She shot Hermione a secret smile as she headed out the door. “Quite a handsome one, he is.”

Hermione blinked and looked over at the chair. On top of it rested something that Hermione had been yearning to see for so long.

Tom Riddle had left her a book.

❖

“Malfoy,” he barked.

“Yes, My Lord?” the blond bowed at his feet, trembling. Tom was pleased; it seemed that after a week of crucio’ing him, he had finally learned that Tom was to be feared. It was only a pity that he had to waste so much time on the idiot, but it would do him no good to dwell on the past, and it was good for his followers that he didn’t. They had made so many mistakes in the past that he generously overlooked; they wouldn’t want him to bring them to light again.

As much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy had more power in the outside world than he did. He had more connections, and his last name ensured that people would listen to and respect his opinion. Tom sneered; there was no way people were going to listen to someone like him with a muggle last name. That was why he had already begun coming up with another name that would give no hints that he had undesirable blood. One that people would cower when they heard it.

“Tell me all about Hermione Granger,” Tom said darkly. “ _All_ of it.” His dark eyes bore in to Malfoy’s, and the latter nodded quickly. Tom was pleased that he did not ask any questions; maybe a bit of obedience could be pushed in to him after all.

Lestrange, whose eyes were on his wand as he waved it around nonchalantly, no doubt thought it was someone else that spoke, as he tossed out in a low drawl, “She’s a mudblood. Why would you want anything to do with her?”

The room became eerily quiet; everyone didn’t dare to breathe as Lestrange finally raised his head, realization dawned his face. “Please, my Lord,” he pleaded, even dropping down to his knees as a look of fear crossed his face. “I didn’t mean that.”

The inevitable curse came anyway, and Lestrange writhed around on the floor. Tom didn’t bother to cast a silencing charm; he relished the screams—they helped give him energy. He held Lestrange under the curse until the boy had nearly screamed his voice raw, before releasing him. The boy panted on the floor while Tom towered over him, a sinister smirk on his face.

“I wasn’t aware,” Tom said darkly. “That your opinion was my concern.”

“Please, my Lord,” Lestrange croaked, crawling over slowly and kissing the hem of his robes. It was a practice that he had begun with his followers the previous year. Those who were too proud to perform this task were punished until they swallowed their pride and did so. It made him pleased that he could crack even the toughest of purebloods to perform such a submissive act. “I only wanted to help you.”

“ _Help_ me?” Tom repeated, narrowing his eyes. His magic crackled darkly around him. “I wasn’t aware that I asked for your help.”

“My Lord—”

“What do you think someone like _you_ can offer me?” Tom circled around Lestrange, like a wolf around its prey. “What gives you the impression that someone like you can question my motives?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I wasn’t thinking—”

“Of course you weren’t thinking,” Tom narrowed his eyes dangerous, twirling his wand around. Lestrange eyed the piece of wood with a look of terror on his face. “None of you ever think.” All of his followers flinched, like he was going to curse all of them, but Tom paid them no mind. Instead, he smiled eerily at Lestrange and said, “Perhaps a little cruciatus will get your mind working again.”

Lestrange’s eyes got wide. “Please, my Lord,” he pleased. “I beg you—”

“Malfoy,” Tom cut the trembling Lestrange off, turning his dark eyes to the blond Slytherin, who instantly got up and bowed at Tom’s feet. “I believe I gave you a task.” Malfoy nodded once, and then scuttled off, not daring to look back. Tom then turned his attention towards Yaxley, who immediately stiffened. “Go make sure that there’s no one outside,” he said, a disturbing smile on his face. Tom then glanced down at Lestrange, no remorse present on his face. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

❖

“You’re awake.”

“Yes, I am,” Hermione beamed as Tom sit down in his usual chair next to her bed. She noticed Tom’s eyes drifting towards the book on her desk, so she added, “I read it a couple of times already. It’s quite interesting.” She paused. “Though it’s also quite dark.” Even though she obviously did not like the type of book it was, she had a look of love as she stared at the book. It should’ve disgusted him. Strangely, it didn’t. Maybe it was because he held the same feelings towards book as she did, except less severe. Tom Riddle did not feel love. Even the bond he shared with the cruciatus curse was more like an obsession.

“You never specified.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t,” Hermione shrugged. “Though, I probably would’ve appreciated it a bit more if you didn’t steal it. If you wanted money, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve given you extra, too, to buy your own books.” She paused. “But I didn’t think you would take it.” She grinned at him. “I know you hate to accept charity.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “And you know this how?”

“I have sources,” Hermione smiled mysteriously. When Tom gave her a look of doubt, she sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re not having one of your followers checking my background as we speak. It’s only natural that I do the same.”

It unnerved him, how much she could read him.

The question came almost out of the blue. “What do you fear?”

Tom blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

Hermione shrugged. “I was just curious. What are you afraid of? You don’t seem like the type of person who is terribly scared of spiders.” She smiled slightly, as if fondly remembering something.

Tom snorted; if he was afraid of spiders, he would never get anywhere in life. Hermione raised her eyebrow at the sound that left his mouth, but didn’t comment on it. It was the first time he let his calm demeanor slip. “And what if I’m not scared of anything?”

Hermione looked him straight in the eye. “No one’s perfect, Tom.”

“I am,” Tom responded arrogantly, a self satisfied smirk on his face. And he really did truly believe that.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

There was a long pause, with Tom deciding whether or not he wanted to tell her. In the end, his curiosity for what her reaction would be won out, and he said softly, “Death.”

“Death,” Hermione repeated softly. “That’s interesting.”

Given her current condition, she would be facing death pretty soon. “Are you afraid of it as well?” Tom asked.

“No, not really. I’ve accepted it,” Hermione looked outside the window, though her face was void of any regrets that Tom had expected to appear. Merlin knows that if he were on the verge of dying, he would hastily make as many horcruxes as he possibly could. “I’m more afraid of not being remembered.” Here, she looked him full in the eye as she spoke. “I’m afraid of slipping away invisibly, with no one left on earth to remember me. Of death? Not so much. But to be forgotten, then yes. I am very, very afraid.”

“Why choose to die, then?” Tom looked at her. “There are millions of ways to ensure that you live.” He shrugged. “It seems to me that you want to die.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” She cocked her head to one side. “And, pray, tell me, what is exactly one of the ways? Because I’m not suicidal; I would like to live if I could, but I have tried almost everything to no avail.”

“You could move to a wizard hospital,” Tom said. Though, a part of him wished that she didn’t; as much as he denied it, he was beginning to warm up to her presence. The remainder of his punishment would be as boring as hell if she left. “The wizarding world is hundreds of times more advanced than the muggle society will ever be.” Tom smirked. “Though I suppose it isn’t their fault; muggles can’t do anything even if they tried.”

“I wasn’t aware it was time for another episode of you being a jerk,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “And no, that is where you’re incorrect. I have cancer, Tom. Do you know what cancer is?” Tom nodded. “That puts you ahead of a majority of the wizarding world. They have no idea what it is, so there’s no way they can treat me. I’m already far enough along to pretty much ensure my death, but at least if I stay in a muggle hospital, I can let myself hope that I’ll still be able to live to see another Christmas.” She paused. “I’m not ashamed of being in a muggle hospital when I die, Tom. I came in to the world as a muggleborn, and I’m perfectly fine to die as one. I’m proud of my heritage, which is something you should be.”

Tom ignored her last statement. There was no way he could ever be proud of being an offspring of that disgusting muggle that shared the same name as him. “Why don’t you just create horcruxes?” Tom asked. “Even if you died, you could still live through the remaining pieces of your soul. You can slowly rebuild your body while you preserve yourself inside the horcruxes.”

“Horcruxes,” Hermione repeated, looking rather appalled. “Merlin, who do you think I am, Tom? Even if I tried, I could never get it to work. There’s no way I would be selfish enough to take another person’s life just to make sure that I get to live another day. And creating horcruxes involves me feeling no remorse. That simply isn’t possible for me.” She looked him straight in the eye. “If I ever kill a living organism, no matter if it was a person or a house elf or a thestral or some other thing, I would probably kill myself in grief and remorse.”

“House elf?” Tom sneered, rather disappointed that she didn’t agree with his view of horcruxes. She seemed so shocked that he had suggested that she made one; he couldn’t imagine her reaction if he told her he was planning on making seven. No one ever seemed to get why he would make seven; but then, no one knew of his plans to live forever either. It gave him comfort to know that there were at least a couple of things that she didn’t know about him. “Why would you be so upset over a house elf? They’re all replaceable.”  

“You crossed the line there,” Hermione scowled angrily and placed both hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know that I started a free house elf organization during my years of Hogwarts. I founded SPEW—Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.” She gave him a haughty look. “I am a major supporter of house elf rights. There’s no way I’m going to kill them to create a horcrux.”

“You tried to free house elves?” Tom snorted. “And how well did that go for you? Most house elves like working for their masters. You probably offended them with your campaign.”

Hermione shifted around, frowning. “Yes, it did not work out as well as I planned, but it’s the effort that counts.” She reached over to her desk and pulled open the drawer, retrieving a round object and offering it to him. “Here’s a button. You can pin it to your robes.” She grinned at him. “If someone like you wears it, I’m sure that a lot of people will join.”

“You are a very delusional girl,” Tom mumbled as he stood up, ignoring her outstretched hand as the clock chimed. “I am not a walking advertisement. You do well to remember that.”

“But you’re going to go back to Hogwarts,” Hermione called out. “And you’re going to remember this delusional girl, aren’t you? Even if you’re thinking of how foolish she is, she’ll be in your mind, won’t she?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Hermione tsked. “That sounds like a denial, Mister Riddle.”

Oh, how he hated that name. “You don’t care how people remember you?” he said. “You don’t care if people remember you with hatred, wanting you to come back to life only so they can murder you again? You just want your name to be written down in history books?”

“You clearly misunderstood me,” Hermione frowned. “I want to be remembered in a positive note. I only said I was foolish.” Hermione said. “That does not translate to me being evil. Of course I don’t want people to remember me with hatred. I don’t care if people remember me as a silly, immature schoolgirl. I just want to be remembered with love.”

“Love is for morons.”

“You have your opinion, I have mine.” Hermione shrugged.

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “And if, hypothetically, I do remember you as the moronic girl,” Hermione grinned at this. “What will happen then? Will there be fireworks? Explosions? You won’t even be here to witness it.”

Hermione said softly, “No, there will be no major celebration. I will just have completed that mission. This is to please myself, and as long as I believe that I am cared about, nothing else really matters to me.”

❖

“My Lord?” Malfoy came stuttering in to the room and fell in an ungraceful heap at his feet. “I have some information for you.”

Tom was silent for quite a while, and Malfoy finally got the courage to look up. He immediately stiffened, and Tom had to refrain himself from laughing. He had decided to construct a new appearance for himself. It was still a work in progress, but the effects had been better than expected; his followers had all flinched at the sight of his blood red eyes and his pale skin. His hair still helped enhance his good looks, and while he hated to get rid of it, it had to go. There should be no reason to lust after a dark lord. He should be feared, not desired for.

Malfoy took his silence as a sign to continue. “I have researched about Hermione Granger,” he said. Tom leaned forward in his chair, his eyes trained on the blond aristocrat. “She, along with some friends, helped defeat Gellert Grindelwald two years ago.” He paused, as if unsure whether or not to say his next statement. “She is known to be very close with Albus Dumbledore.”

It should’ve bothered him, but it didn’t. Perhaps it was because he already knew, after her referencing the old codger so many times. It wasn’t her acquaintance with his transfiguration teacher that was surprising.

She had defeated Gellert Grindelwald, the man who had come so close to taking over the world. Tom himself had hated him, wishing with all his might that he could kill the man himself. How dare Grindelwald attempt to become the ruler of the world, a title that belonged to only Tom? It was Tom’s property, and he hated when someone else tried to steal something that was rightfully his.

Grindelwald had mysteriously disappeared two years ago, but no one knew if he was dead or if he was just in hiding, planning another attack. Tom narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, who seemed to flinch back and shrivel in to a ball. “Why was I not informed of this?” he hissed.

“Dumbledore wanted to keep it a secret,” Malfoy mumbled, wondering why Tom was suddenly curious, but too scared to voice his thoughts aloud. “After Grindelwald’s defeat, Dumbledore, Granger, and her two friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, were treated like heroes. On Dumbledore’s orders, Grindelwald’s death was not made public. However, Granger and her friends received special rights from the Ministry.”

That was what she meant when they were dueling. She had helped to defeat one of the darkest wizard of all time, and in return, the Ministry gave her permission to use magic inside of her hospital room. On one hand, Tom was relieved that Grindelwald was finally gone. With the man dead, Tom could resume his rightful position as the ruler of the earth. However, he was slightly angry that it had not been him who had murdered that charlatan ruler.

However, as much as he thought about it, she was still a war hero. And Tom thought that he could finally put her to good use.

❖

“I lied,”

Tom raised an eyebrow. Hermione was staring out the window, a sad look on her face. Her lunch lay untouched on the desk next to her. Her fingers were gripping her sheets tightly, almost turning her knuckles white.

“And what exactly did you lie about?”Tom inquired, sitting down in his usual chair. He brought his book with him, as he had begun to do in the past few visits. It had begun as his homework, but Hermione was an endless chatterbox, always voicing her opinion. Occasionally, he would get fed up with her talking and prove her wrong, but that would only lead to a long, drawn out debate.

He recognized it. He had no doubt that she was the one who sent him the notes regarding his potion brewing. He supposed that he ought to feel offended that he wasted so much time with a mudblood. Had it been anyone else, he would have been. But with Hermione, he found that strangely, he didn’t mind at all.

“I am afraid,” she whispered, and Tom was surprised to see tears starting to flow down her face. “I’m _very_ afraid.” She turned to him, and for once in his life, Tom didn’t know how to act. “Tom, I don’t want to die.”

“I don’t blame you,” Tom said, wondering how long it would take him to reach the nearest exit. Big, round tears were running down her cheeks now, and he had no idea what he should do. Usually, he loved the sight of someone crying, but only because he caused it. Hermione’s sadness, he knew, was not caused by anything except something that was completely uncontrollable.

“I’m scared, Tom,” her voice became a harsh whisper. For a second, Tom was scared that she would hug him—or, rather, he was scared what his reaction to that would be. Would he push her away? Or would he do the unthinkable and hold her? Both options disgusted him. Fortunately, she cried where she was, making no move to touch him. “I’m so _young_. I always thought I was ready for death on the battlefield. I had watched so many people die, and I was prepared for it.” She laughed, but there was no happiness in it at all. “I survived the war. I _survived_ the stupid war. I thought I could return to a normal life. But guess what?” she hiccupped. “I still can’t live. I still have to _die_. And this time, there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. Because I have _cancer_.”

She picked up the flower vase next to her and threw it as hard as she could, the glass hitting the wall and smashing in to millions of pieces. Tom tensed, but he heard no footsteps coming down the hall to check on the commotion. He snorted; what if Hermione had been in serious danger? Some hospital staff they were.

Hermione didn’t say anything after that, and he was completely silent. The only sounds in the room were her sniffles, and she rubbed her eyes furiously.

Tom sighed and handed her a tissue. “Here,” he ordered, but not unkindly. “Wipe your nose. Don’t get any of that on my robes. They were expensive.”

She did as she was told, and then blinked rapidly. For the most part, her face was dry again, the only signs that she had even cried in the first place were her red puffy eyes. She turned towards him and opened her mouth, only to close it again when no sound came out.

And then she kissed him.

It was more desperate, if anything. Her actions were imprecise, and Tom could easily tell that she was an amateur. But Tom knew that romance was not the point of the gesture, so he let her continue to kiss him, let her continue to press her lips to his.

He didn’t dislike it as much as he originally thought he would.

❖

 

“Harry! Ron!” Hermione beamed. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course we would come. It’s Christmas! We can’t let you stay here by yourself,” Harry and Ron both sat on either side of her, wielding giant presents.

Harry peered over the top of his rather large box and looked at her worriedly. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked gently. “Mrs. Weasley was absolutely devastated when you could not make it, but she promises that the entire family will come and visit you tomorrow.”

“Fred and George prepared something for you,” Ron piped helpfully. “However, they refused to say anything about it. Harry and I have walked past their room a couple of times, and bloody hell, it smells terrible.”

Hermione smiled slightly at the thought of the Weasley family. They were a bit overwhelming at times, but they were as much of a family to her as Harry and Ron were. She remembered their chaotic family dinners, and felt a twinge of guilt that she couldn’t be there anymore, that she might not ever be healthy enough to attend ever again.

“I’m okay,” Hermione said. When Harry merely shot her a skeptical look, Hermione sighed; Harry spent too much time talking with the nurses and doctors, and the hospital staff seemed way too eager to tell him about every aspect in her life. She trusted Harry immensely, but there were just some things that he didn’t need to know. It only worried him even more.

“Emily told me you fainted the other day,” Harry said, slipping his hand in to hers and squeezing it gently. Ron, who had been playing with the ribbons on his present, froze and looked up in shock. Harry had lived in the muggle world for much of his life, so he knew how dangerous cancer really was. Ron, for the most part, seemed to be trying to pass it off as a mere flu, unwilling to accept the disease for what it was. And Hermione didn’t blame him. Other than poison, there was nothing in the wizard world that was really similar to cancer.

“Yes, but it was mild,” Hermione waved him off. She had been thinking about her duel with Tom, and the recounting the events made her want to cast magic again. She had not used her wand—other than the duel with Tom—ever since she got to the hospital. However, she decided to try it again.

It had started off rather smoothly. She found out that she could levitate her blankets and other little things on her bedside. However, once she started to switch to more difficult spells, such as transfiguration, she found herself beginning to sweat. That had never happened to her before, and Hermione merely passed it off, convincing herself that it was because the room was too hot.

After she continued on, she noticed black spots beginning to form in her vision. It was then that she decided to stop, and only then did she notice that she was breathing rather quickly. It had been a relief that Emily came in when she did, because if the young nurse hadn’t caught her, she would’ve banged her head on her way to the floor.

Perhaps it was because of that that she had her little emotional breakdown in front of Tom. She was not one to pity herself often, but it was understandable for her to regret the shortness of her life, wasn’t it? She just usually did it in the safety of her room; everyone else who saw her outside thought of her to be strong, accepting her death with a positive attitude. That’s what she wanted everyone to think of her.

No one knew that she was really just nothing more than a scared little girl. Scared of leaving everyone she loved behind to venture into a place unknown. She tried to accept it, she truly did. She felt selfish. She wanted a person to find the cure of cancer not for everyone else who was diagnosed with the disease, but for herself. She wanted to be the first one cured, the first one to step out of the hospital and proclaim that she was alive, _truly_ alive.

It shamed her just how much she wanted to live.

After that, she had kissed him. It was a rash action, and she had no words to explain it. He had merely been there, so close to her, and she had just leaned in. For someone who hated muggleborns, he didn’t seem to care that he was kissing one while her tears ran freely down her cheeks and splattering on to his robes. On the other hand, he hadn’t done anything to encourage her either, and had left right after they broke apart.

Hermione didn’t know anything anymore.

“You shouldn’t strain yourself,” Ron said, frowning. “You were making so much process before. Whatever you’re doing now, stop doing it.” His eyes zeroed in on her desk. “Is that a book? Have you started reading again?” She watched in horror as he stood up and tucked the book inside his robes. “It can’t be healthy for you.”

“Ronald Weasley!” she said in a shrill voice. Absentmindedly, she registered Harry telling her to calm down, telling her that it was not good for her to speak so loudly. However, Ron had dared to take her book away from her, and that was crossing the line. She would rather die with her books than prolong her life just a little by not reading. “You give that book back right now! It has nothing to do with why I fainted!”

“Then why did you faint?” She could tell that Harry meant well with his question, but she couldn’t help but resent him for asking it. What was she supposed to say? That she was doing magic with a wand that she supposedly turned in to them before she was admitted in to the hospital? They had claimed that doing magic would harm her, and she supposed that was true, but magic was just as much part of her life as books were. They couldn’t just strip her from it.

She was angry at herself for thinking that way. She wanted desperately to live, but she was unwilling to give away all the things she loved to make her healthier. Perhaps, magic and books were ways of deluding herself, of making her mind think that she was just an ordinary girl in the hospital with something trivial like a sore throat. She would get out soon, healthy and ready to take on the next challenge in life.

Before she was forced to answer, though, the door flew open and Tom strode in, looking quite pleased with himself. Hermione noticed a package in his hand. While it was not as colorfully decorated as neither Harry’s nor Ron’s—it was simply wrapped with plain brown wrapping—Hermione did notice that it was in the shape of a book, and she nearly squealed with happiness. There was also the fact that he even decided to come back after her little episode that made her quite content.

He stopped in his tracks and stared suspiciously at Harry and Ron. Hermione thought she saw a hint of recognition in his eyes and wondered just how far in his research of her he was. He had to be pretty far along if he knew of Harry and Ron already; Dumbledore had made sure that it would be information hard to dig up. Either that, or he asked Malfoy to find it out for him. Hermione knew that Malfoy had a lot of connections in high places.

 _Probably the latter_ , Hermione thought to herself, snorting slightly. _There’s no way that Tom would spend his precious time researching someone sickly like me_. She paused, and then mentally scolded herself. _Stop degrading yourself. You’re better than that._

Harry and Ron both made a move to stand up and stood in front of her bed, making a human barrier. From what Hermione could see from her position, Tom was sneering ugly at them, his hand already drifting towards his wand.

“Stop,” Hermione said, sensing the tensions in the air as the three boys regarded each other warily, threatening to pull out their wands at any moment. However, they either did not hear her or ignored her, because they did not react at all. A familiar burst of energy coursed through her body; she had always gotten rather angry when things did not go her way.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Ron snarled. Never one of patience, he whipped out his wand and jabbed it in Tom’s face. Tom eyed it with disgust and pulled his wand out as well, his movements much more graceful. He took his time, though, as if he didn’t believe Ron would hurt him. “Who gives you the right to come here?”

“I go where I want, Weasley,” Tom spat out, shoving Ron’s hand out of his face. Harry, too, pulled out his wand. Tom looked between the two of them, before deciding that Harry was the bigger threat and pointed his wand at him.

“Ron, please stop this,” she tugged on Ron’s robes, but she was thoroughly insulted when he brushed her off, keeping his eyes on Tom. “Harry,” she tried, but he was too far away for her to tug on his robes, and he appeared to not have heard her words.

“Why are you here?” Ron looked like he wanted to explode. “This is a hospital! Do not come here and inflict your evilness on all the innocent patients.” He glared at Tom. “Does Dumbledore know that you’re here?”

“Ron,” Hermione reprimanded. She knew that all her attempts to get their attention would not work, but she had to try anyways. However, like she expected, Ron did not even acknowledge her at all.

It hurt how he was so engrossed in the fight that he could brush her off. Even when they were fighting Grindelwald together, he made sure to always to respond to her calls whenever she needed help. The thought that he was ignoring her—be that it may be accidentally or deliberately—gave her a sinking feeling that she hadn’t gotten in a long time.

Her palms started sweating, and she wiped them on her covers. Her lungs started constricting, and Hermione found it difficult to breath. She wheezed slightly, but no one paid her any attention. She suddenly felt the need to vomit, and wondered briefly if she did puke on Ron, if he would notice her then.

“Dumbledore does not control me,” Tom sneered. Hermione noticed his grip tighten on his wand, his knuckles turning almost white. It was no secret that he and the transfiguration professor did not get along well. Even back in school, she could see how Dumbledore had been the only one who didn’t adore Tom, the only one who saw his obsession with the dark arts.

“You’re under constant watch. Dumbledore has imposed restrictions on you. Don’t think we don’t know that.” Tom’s jaw clenched as he glared at Ron. The redhead’s voice was increasing in volume, and Hermione had to squeeze her eyes shut to try and turn out the pounding that had started in her head. Her whole body was sweating now, and she felt uncomfortably hot. “So, let me ask again. Is Dumbledore aware that you are here?”

“Ron,” Hermione said quietly, her eyes still closed. “Ron, stop it. You’re hurting me.”

But of course, there was still no response.

A few more statements were exchanged, but they were all a blur in Hermione’s ears. She couldn’t tell when one word ended and the other started, nor could she distinguish who was talking anymore. In the end, all words blended together in to a loud hum, a hum that hurt her head immensely.

This was not the symptoms of the cancer, as far as she knew. Perhaps some of the symptoms were mixed in there, but this was something else, though it irked Hermione because she could not figure out what this was, could not figure out what the itchy feeling inside her body was.

She opened her eyes just when Ron jabbed the wand in to Tom’s cheek while Harry ducked to avoid a spell that Tom sent his way. Tom then turned to Ron, a menacing look on his face. The looks on Harry’s and Ron’s faces weren’t any less frightening, and Hermione knew that they were only seconds away from someone getting seriously hurt.

“ _STOP IT!_ ” she screamed, waving around her wand wildly. A blue screen appeared between Ron and Tom, but her mind was too jumbled up for her to recognize what spell she used. Everyone turned to look at her slowly, as if realizing for the very first time that she was there.

“Stop it.” She repeated, this time much softer. She felt her lungs constrict slightly, and had to work at breathing. This was a type of panic attack, she knew, but knowing the name of her symptoms did not help her one bit. She looked at them carefully, and she suspected that there was a pleading look in her eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

And then she fainted.

❖

She could not open her eyes. It was complete darkness around her, and she wanted to grasp at the light, to pull herself out. However, her arms were as heavy as lead, and she found that as much as she tried, she could not bring herself to move them. She was stuck in this dark, deep hole and there was no way to get out.

She heard voices. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.” It was Emily’s voice. She remembered Emily’s voice. It was nice and lovely. “The patient’s condition has worsened considerably ever since you got here. You are causing Hermione unnecessary stress.” She paused. “The hospital has issued a two week probation from entering this hospital. After those two weeks are over, you may visit again, though in separate groups. This should never happen again. Good day, sirs,”

❖

“Wake up.”

Hermione sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes. Tom was standing in front of her, the moonlight hitting his back, making his figure look very dark indeed, but also like a dark hero at the same time. There was no emotion shown on his face, and it was rather strange to see it void of his arrogance or his anger that she was so used to seeing.

“Tom?” she said, but he silenced her and sat down in his usual seat. He was still supposed to be on his probation, which was why he had climbed in through the window instead of coming in through the front doors. She didn’t know if he had climbed up the side of the building to the window, or if he had just apparated to the window ledge. She had asked the Ministry to put up apparation wards years ago, but she didn’t know if they had actually done it or not.

He was strangely quiet. She attempted to make conversation with him numerous times, but he refused to talk. At first, she made sure that he would know that while she was still a little annoyed about his confrontation with Harry and Ron, she was not mad at him. She had decided that it was really no one’s fault but her own; she had overreacted, after all. However, that didn’t meant that she wouldn’t have a little talk with Ron later about listening to her more.

Hermione quickly learned, however, that the whole incident hadn’t fazed him a bit.She did wonder what was bothering him instead, but his lips were glued shut.

He stayed there the whole night. While she tried to follow his examples, she dozed off multiple times. However, each time she woke, he was still sitting there, staring at the wall. She wanted to ask him what was bothering him, but she knew he would never respond.

He left before the nurses came to check up on him. She was wondering why he had even woke her up in the first place. After all, he had just sat in the chair. He had simply ignored her presence after that, opting to stare at the wall in silence than to engage in any form of communication with her. He could’ve done that even if she was sleeping.

She found out later that that was the day that Rubeus Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts for opening the Chamber of Secrets and releasing the monster inside and killing a Ravenclaw girl. It was only after Dumbledore’s influence was Hagrid allowed to stay as the gamekeeper rather than to be shipped off to Azkaban. She also knew that Dumbledore was making arrangements to make sure that the Chamber was never to be opened again.

Everyone bought the story and felt reassured that the Chamber would never be opened again. They also felt a sense of relief that the culprit for doing such a heinous act was expelled, as he should’ve been. Killing was unforgivable.

However, Hermione Granger was no idiot. She knew better than to think that Hagrid’s expulsion was what had made Tom so upset. She could remember Tom’s night visit clearly in her mind, and it didn’t take a genius to piece the two together.

❖

Hermione learned quickly that the day after his probation ended was the last day of his punishment. However, she decided that she couldn’t face him. Of course, she had suspected, after he brought up the topic of horcruxes, that he may have killed some people in the past, the Chamber just solidified her suspicion.

She knew it wasn’t Hagrid who opened the Chamber; while the half giant always had his love of rather weird beasts, Hermione knew first handedly that none of the beasts were dangerous enough to be the monster that killed the Ravenclaw girl. And she knew Hagrid far too well to think that he would even _think_ about opening the Chamber. He probably wasn’t even aware that the Chamber existed.

He must have come to her room that night not because he was sad that Hagrid was expelled, but because his precious Chamber was to be closed down forever. In his own way, he was mourning for his death machine. And somehow, somewhere, she had played a part in it.

She decided she couldn’t stay awake to face him. She was afraid of what her reaction would be. Instead, she scribbled down four words on a piece of paper and placed it next to her bed, letting darkness overtake her. Over the next few years, she looked back on the moment and regretted it; as much as she was scared to face him, she wished she had stayed awake long enough to see him walk in through the door.

She would never see Tom again.

❖

Tom looked down, his face void of emotion, at the piece of paper next to her bed.

 _I figured it out_.

Of course she did. A cruel smirk spread across his face. How was it that this _mudblood_ , someone worth absolutely nothing, easily figured out something that no one else even suspected him for? The story he came up with covered everything quite well, so there was no reason for anyone to doubt that Hagrid was the culprit. How was this mudblood smarter than everyone that he had outwitted?

He glanced down at the sleeping girl. She had been smart—or perhaps, just a coward—to put herself to sleep to avoid meeting him. This marked the last day of his punishment, and he would never have to return to this hospital again.

He debated on killing her, or even just erasing her memory. However, he decided it wasn’t worth the risk. She, like Dumbledore, did not have proof that he opened the Chamber. As far as everyone else was concerned, he was just the perfect little Head Boy. How could he have even known about the Chamber’s existence?

He looked at her again. Her face was so peaceful when she slept, void of emotion. Her usual cheeky grin and her stubbornness were missing, and Tom could almost hear her smug voice echoing in the air. But the room was silent, and the only sounds that she was making were her soft breaths.

He left before she woke up, taking the note along with him. He burned it in the fire place.

❖

This was the last day. He would never attend Hogwarts again. From this day forward, Hogwarts was not there to welcome him home during the school year. He was by himself again, away from the safeties of the castle.

It was his graduation day.

He did not cry, as many of the pitiless girls—and even some boys—did. Instead, he stood away from his followers and by himself in a corner. He had no family; he had disposed of his remaining living relatives over the past few months.

Everyone was wise enough to keep away, to give him time to clear his own head. However, two people did not seem to get the memo and came over. The looks on their faces informed him just how much they wanted to speak with him as well.

“Riddle,” Potter greeted chilly. Behind him, his sidekick glared at Tom.

“What do you want, Potter?” Tom snarled. Though his façade had been calm, inside, anger was bubbling. It was his way of masking his sadness of having to leave Hogwarts. Tom didn’t feel obliged to restrain himself anymore; one wrong move and Potter would find himself blasted to the other end of the room.

“She was going bored out of her mind,” Potter said, and it didn’t take a genius to know who’ her’ was. There was only one link that connected him to Potter. “She started to summon books from wherever she could. It took and extraordinary amount of magic and energy, and she didn’t have those. However, she got almost fifty of them from places that were miles away before she collapsed.” Potter looked him in the eye. “She died today.”

❖

He couldn’t believe he was there.

He looked down on her grave. _Hermione Jean Granger_ , it said. _September 19 th, 1979. Brightest witch of her age. Loyal friend and talented dueler._

He looked at the gravestone, and then an unexpected surge of anger rushed through him. He fished in his robes and pulled out something that he hadn’t thought he would carry around for so long. He had forgotten it was there, though he always seemed to absentmindedly put it back in his pockets after he washed his robes.

“Have your stupid button back,” he snarled, throwing the SPEW button at the grave stone. It bounced off and lay helplessly on the ground, but he made no move to pick it up. The wind picked up, but Tom stayed where he was. He felt as if he should say something, to yell at her for dying so quickly, but for once in his life, his voice failed him. There was simply nothing to be said.

“Coming to pay your respects?”

Tom narrowed his eyes and whirled around, but there was no one there. Only the trees and the wind listened to this one-sided conversation. He knew better than expect that she had turned in to a ghost; no matter how much she hated death, she was much too proud to have stayed behind.

He would’ve been disappointed if she had.

She had moved on. And now it was time for him to do so as well. He had a world to conquer, and two remaining horcruxes to make to ensure him true immortality. Hermione Granger had accepted death with open arms. And now he was going to embrace life.

However, he supposed, once in awhile he could spend some time away from his plans and visit this site once more, to fulfill the last wish of this girl who was the victim of cancer.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: You know. I always envied author’s who could making scenes so touching that I would cry my eyes out when I read them. Well. Don’t send me any flames saying that my scenes have as much emotion as a rock, because I am aware of that. It’s a work in progress.


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